


simple words

by nicole_writes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fluff, Hubert von Vestra is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Pining, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Referenced Love Letters, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:40:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29809923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicole_writes/pseuds/nicole_writes
Summary: The words that come out of Dorothea’s mouth slam into him like the full force of a Miasma spell and he sputters, opening and closing his mouth. It's utterlyhumiliating. He is Hubert von Vestra, Minister of the Imperial Household and here he is, sputtering and flustered overone stupid letterthat he was sent over a week ago that he has yet to draft a coherent response to.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault & Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 4
Kudos: 83





	simple words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trixstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trixstar/gifts).



> for trixie, with whom i made a bet that i would not reach 1 million written words of fanfiction until may. as such, i have horribly lost this bet since writing this pushed me over 1 mil. however, she does owe me a fic as well since she thought i would do it before the end of February and it's now March.
> 
> first ferdibert..... it was an exercise so hopefully i did them justice.

“Hubert.”

He startles, slamming his hand atop the letter on his desk and turning abruptly in his chair. He doesn’t need Dorothea, in all her smugness, to call out the obvious redness in his face, so he sets his eyes into a firm, unmoving stare as he glares at her. 

Dorothea laughs behind her hand, waving away his irritation. She strides across his office, seemingly unphased by his nasty glare. “Oh Hubie, I’m not going to tell anyone you’re being unproductive because you’re in here fawning over Ferdie’s latest letter.”   


The words that come out of Dorothea’s mouth slam into him like the full force of a Miasma spell and he sputters, opening and closing his mouth. It's utterly  _ humiliating _ . He is Hubert von Vestra, Minister of the Imperial Household and here he is, sputtering and flustered over  _ one stupid letter _ that he was sent over a week ago that he has yet to draft a coherent response to. 

“I’m not—”

He’s cut off by her clicking her tongue sharply, punctuating it with a wagging finger. “Come on, Hubie, you can’t lie to me. Maybe Edie believes that there’s nothing between you, but I certainly don’t.”   


Hubert narrows his eyes. Without looking down, he shuffles Ferdinand’s letter underneath two other documents that he is  _ supposed  _ to be reviewing before the Cabinet meeting tomorrow. A cabinet meeting that will feel horribly empty without their Prime Minister. 

“Dorothea, if you don’t mind, I have a lot of work to do.”   


She raises a manicured eyebrow. “I’m sure.” Dorothea rests her hip against the side of his desk and lifts her hand up, inspecting her nails. “So, if you’re so busy, I’m sure you’re not interested in the latest updates from Leicester.”

He sits up straighter at her words. It’s an unintentional reaction, but he can’t stop the way that he jolts to attention at the mention of the Leicester Alliance. Post has been delayed recently, due to bad weather, so the letter he had just buried under his work is the most recent correspondence that he has received. 

Dorothea laughs at him again, reading his reaction with ease. Internally, he curses himself for being so obvious. “Hubert,” she says, more seriously, “there isn’t much news,” she admits. “But, we might be fortunate enough to have our dear friends join us sooner than we thought they would.”   


He frowns. “What?” 

Dorothea smirks. “They’re coming back early.”   


Hubert stands up. “When is early?”   


“Not right this minute,” she teases, reaching for his shoulder and pushing down on it until he sinks back into his chair. “I’d reckon you have three or four fewer days than you had originally thought to deal with that letter.”   


Hubert hisses out a short breath. “Of course I do.” 

“And maybe less, depending on how furiously he rides to get back to you.”   


“What?”

She pats his shoulder, smoothing out the slightly wrinkled fabric of his jacket. “His adoration seeps even into his official correspondence. If I didn’t know Ferdie as well as I do, it would be disgusting.” 

Hubert hates that Dorothea can see through him. He hates that she, of all people, can see this tremulous thing that is developing between him and Ferdinand. Perhaps second only to Edelgard, Dorothea is the last person Hubert wants butting into his personal affairs. Especially when those affairs have to do with Ferdinand, a mutual friend. 

“I think you should leave, Dorothea,” he grumbles. “Unless you have anything important to actually tell me.”   


She beams. “Nope! Just here to be a bother and to remind you to eat something today.” She pats his shoulder condescendingly and then dances away before he can swat at her. She gets almost to the door of his study when she stops, resting one hand on the doorframe and peeking back over her shoulder at him. “Ferdinand likes you for you, Hubert, not because you send him poetic words of adoration. Just be honest in the letter and that’s all you’ll need.”   


She disappears then, and Hubert looks back down at his desk, scoffing under his breath. As much as he would like to discard her advice, he knows that it’s true. The flirtation between him and Ferdinand had started as an accident, but it is impossible to ignore. It pulls at his every atom, drawing him into Ferdinand’s space. There’s an undeniable gravity about the Prime Minister that Hubert had once hated. Now, however, he finds himself unable to dislike it. 

He brushes aside the pages that covered the letter and stares down at Ferdinand’s perfect cursive. There are a few imperfections to certain letters—words written with more haste. Mostly, though, Ferdinand’s letter is sincere and honest and much better than anything that Hubert could hope to write back to him. 

A scowl settles over his expression as he pulls out a quill and a blank page. He starts with Ferdinand’s name. He had used to use his title, but Ferdinand had reprimanded him quite harshly about that a while ago, so the formalities have since been dropped. After that, his quill hesitates long enough that a small splotch of ink dots the page to signal his indecisiveness. 

Hubert sighs. More than anything, he wishes that he did not have to send this letter back. He wishes that he could simply wait the remaining time until Ferdinand returned back to Enbarr to have this conversation, but he knows that it will hurt the Prime Minister’s feelings if the letter remains unanswered for that long. 

Finally, he sets the quill to the page. He chooses his words carefully. He stays brief and almost professional, but he does stick to simpler terms. He leaves out the flowery language Ferdinand writes with and sticks to the to-the-point style that he is known for. When he signs off the letter with a flick of his signature, he makes it a point to hope that Dorothea is right. 

“It’ll be her fault if she isn’t,” he grumbles to himself as he carefully folds the letter and slides it into an envelope. 

Now he just has to find a mail carrier that can get this letter with the next batch of correspondence. And then, of course, he actually has to do his job. 

* * *

Hubert doesn’t make a habit out of visiting the stable. Most of his visits there are so that he can accompany Ferdinand in their spare time, but he does try to stop by every few days to give his own mount, a stallion raised by Ferdinand, enough treatment that he does not get pissy when ridden. 

Naturally, he happens to be swinging by between meetings on the afternoon that Ferdinand arrives home. 

He hears the chaos before he sees it—yelling and the sound of hurried footsteps outside the stable—and he quickly makes his way to the nearest exit, pushing open the door at the same time that it is thrown open from the other side. 

He comes face-to-face with Ferdinand and stops short, blinking at the other man. 

“Hubert!” Ferdinand exclaims, a wide grin splitting across his face. “I was expecting to have to find you in your office.”

Hubert frowns immediately. “What are you doing here?”   


Ferdinand’s expression cracks with doubt and Hubert immediately kicks himself. “What do you mean?” Ferdinand asks, sounding more reserved and much less excited.

Hubert sighs. “Apologies. I worded that poorly. I should ask: what are you doing back so soon? I heard you had turned back early, but you’re still not supposed to be back for at least another day, aren’t you?”   


Ferdinand relaxes, his shoulders loosening. “Well,” he says calmly, “I suppose I found myself missing you.”   


Hubert steps back, trying to hide his surprise. He is a very private person, Ferdinand knows this, and neither of them has ever been open about their affections. It is one of the reasons that he had been surprised and annoyed that Dorothea had known at all. 

“What?” he mutters, feeling himself frown. 

Ferdinand chuckles and fishes into his pocket to pull out a letter, one that Hubert recognizes to be the letter he had written just days ago. He hadn’t even been aware that it had made it to the Imperial delegation that Ferdinand had been a part of. 

“I got your letter,” Ferdinand explains, “and I wanted to see you. So I rode ahead.”   


Hubert frowns. “You must have ridden through the night if you got here this quickly.”   


Ferdinand winces at that and looks over his shoulder to where two stable hands are dealing with his horse. Usually, Ferdinand insists on doing all of that himself, but today it appears like he is more occupied with speaking to Hubert. Everything about this feels strange. 

“I wanted to see you,” Ferdinand repeats. “I’m sure I’m going to have to give her many apologies for how hard I worked her, but as nice as Leicester is, I wanted to be home—” Ferdinand reaches out and takes Hubert’s hand. Hubert is too startled to pull away. “—With you,” Ferdinand finishes. 

Hubert feels like an idiot. He’s staring at Ferdinand—at the one particularly curly piece of red hair that dances dangerously close to his eyes—and it feels like every word he knows, magic or otherwise, has abandoned him.    


His silence seems to unnerve Ferdinand. His companion’s face falls slightly and the grip on his hand loosens as Ferdinand’s courage withers. 

“I’m sorry,” Ferdinand apologizes suddenly. “I forgot that you are not one for open displays of—”

Hubert’s brain finally restarts as he reaches out and cups Ferdinand’s face, sealing their lips together in plain view of everyone around the stable. Their previous three kisses had been chaste and incredibly private, but there is something liberating about not caring that anyone can see the Minister of the Imperial Household and Adrestia’s Prime Minister entangled in the courtyard next to the stables. 

Ferdinand comes to his senses almost quickly enough to return Hubert’s kiss before Hubert leans back, leaving his gloved hand atop the other’s cheek. Ferdinand beams at him and Hubert brushes back the pesky lock of hair, holding eye contact. 

“I take it then,” Ferdinand says quietly, “that you are happy to see me as well.”

Hubert sighs. “Ferdinand, if I was not happy to see you, would I still be here?”   


Ferdinand chuckles and affectionately pats Hubert’s hand where it still rests on the side of his face. “Dear Hubert, I only jest. I am exceedingly happy to see you as well.”


End file.
